


hiden depths [have delicious results, apparently]

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [45]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Dietrich don’t bang on peoples’ doors lol, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 01:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18436358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newt meets Dietrich. Hermann’s apology is less-than orthodox.





	hiden depths [have delicious results, apparently]

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: “Would you consider writing "My neighbour’s sibling got the wrong house number and barged into my apartment on accident"?!?! Hermann has siblings, right?”

“Hermann? Hermann! Kleiner Bruder, I know you’re in there!” shouts the person banging on his door, and Newt blinks groggily, rolls over to check the time. Eight AM. Too early. He groans and buries his head under the pillow, hoping that it’ll make it go away, but no luck.

“Hermann!” shouts the voice again, and, resigned to his fate, Newt pushes the covers off, stumbles out of the room and towards the front door, pulling it open. There’s a second of silent, before the man says, “Oh. You’re not Hermann.”

“Yeah, no _shit_ ,” Newt grumbles.

The man blinks rapidly and averts his gaze, staring into the distance over Newt’s shoulder, and he realises, suddenly, that he’s wearing a shirt that’s too small and a pair of short shorts and nothing else. _Eh, fuck it_ , he thinks, _if he wants to come banging on my door at eight in the morning, he can deal with my pajamas._

Instead of saying anything about his state of dress—or lack thereof—the man simply says, “Well, I must’ve got the wrong number. Very sorry. I’ll, ah, just—” he waves vaguely and backs away from the door, leaving Newt standing in front of an open door.

“Well,” he mutters, “guess that’s that,” and slams the door, and crawls back into bed.

By the next day, he’s already forgotten about the incident—at least, until he gets back from the lab and finds a box in front of his door. If not for the sticky-note that says _Doctor Geiszler_ on it, he’d asume it’s for someone else.

He gives it a once-over, puzzled, before shrugging and picking it up, and unlocks his door. The box gets tossed on a pile of his stuff, and he doesn’t remember it until, the next day, Hermann forces him to take his paperwork back to his quarters. He tips his chair back, teetering on two legs, and his eyes rove across the room, catching on the blue lid.

“Huh,” he murmurs, grabs it and pries the lid off. Whatever he’s expecting, it’s not— _this_.

Neat rows of perfectly-shaped snickerdoodles meet his stunned gaze, the enticing scent pervading his senses, and, hesitantly, afraid that it’ll disappear before his eyes, he reaches to grab one.

The cookie is very, _very_ real, as is the flavour—oh, the flavour! Newt almost dies—he hasn’t had _real_ cinnamon in…years. Well, that’s rationing for you. But who on earth has access to cinnamon, _and_ would make cookies for _him?_

The question plagues him the rest of the day and into the next.

“ _Newton!_ ” Hermann snaps, when he almost drinks a beaker of neutralised Kaiju Blue in his absent-mindedness. “For my sanity’s sake, _please_ pay attention!”

Newt grins cheekily. “Aww, Herms, I didn’t know you cared!” he coos, and Hermann makes a disgruntled face at him, which is _way_ more adorable than it has any right to be.

“If you were to pass, I would get assigned some incompetent lab assistant,” Hermann grumbles. “And I have _no_ interest in that.” Newt hums, mind already far away. There’s silence, for a while, and then Hermann says, “I, ah, apologise.”

That alone is enough to jolt Newt out of his preoccupation. “Uh, what?” he asks, “sorry, come again?”

“I _apologise_ ,” Hermann repeats, crossly, “really, Newton, you’re not deaf—”

“Who are you, and what have you done with Hermann?” Newt demands.

“Oh, do be quiet!” Hermann snaps, “here I am, trying to apologise for my brother’s horrid behaviour, and all you can do is joke! Honestly, Newton, I can’t _believe_ you sometimes.”

That gives Newt a pause. “Brother?” he questions, “you never mentioned any siblings.”

Hermann grimaces. “As you know, I do not have the…best relationship with my family,” he says delicately.

“Right,” Newt nods.

“My brother, Dietrich,” Hermann continues, “saw it fit to drop by for a surprise visit with no forewarning—and, I am afraid, he got the wrong door and disturbed your sleep.”

_Oh_. “Nah, it’s fine,” Newt replies—Hermann looks genuinely distressed about this, and Newt, as much as it may seem otherwise, doesn’t actually want to guy to feel bad. (Kind of the opposite, but _that’s_ not gonna happen.) “I get it—I mean, I don’t have any siblings, but _lots_ of cousins, so…” he trails off, and Hermann nods.

“If there’s any other way I can apologise, though,” he gnaws on his lip. “Well, you know where I am.”

Newt shoots him finger-guns and turns back to his dissections, ignoring the voice in his head that insists there’s more to it.

A few hours later, he resurfaces from his work, and the voice comes back full force.

_If there’s any other way—_

Wait.

_Other?_

“Other?” he asks, “what do you mean, _other?_ ”

But Hermann’s already gone, the chalkboards wiped clean, the clock on the counter blinking _1:00_ , and Newt resists the urge to bang his head against the table.

_Of course_ , he thinks darkly _, of course he’s cute, and interesting,_ and _he can bake._

_Fuck._

Newt might be just a _little_ bit in love.


End file.
